thing very sympathetic about him, something unsuited to this vulgar
milieu. The swiftly changing expression of his face, now severe and
then suddenly laughing with complete frankness, the intonation and
rhythm of his speech full of contrasting changes, the broad range of
his voice, his abrupt movements, his provocative appearance which
at the same time showed shyness and timidity--all this indicated an
extremely nervous nature and a gentle character . . . NIKOLAI
KOMPANEISKY

. . . in 1867, I met Turgenev once more, again at a concert, this
time in the Hall of Nobility. And here we became acquainted. This
was the 6th of March, a memorable date for me, and the concert
was one given by the Free Music School under the direction of Balakirev . . . [In our conversation] Turgenev turned to the subject of
the new Russian composers, whom he strongly disliked, and to whom
he referred with habitual contempt. "You saw in Smoke what I think
of them," he said, already considerably agitated. "But tell me, Ivan
Sergeyevich," I asked, "do you know many of them, or have you
had an opportunity to hear much of their work in Paris?""When I'm
in Petersburg, I do my best to hear everything new that is being done
here . . . It's terrible . . . You needn't look far for an example--
it is sufficient to listen to what they're giving us tonight. In the first
part of [the program] they sang some sort 'magic chorus' by Mr. Dargomizhsky . . .""From Rogdana?""Oh, yes, from Rogdana or
some such place . . . A magic chorus! Ha, ha, ha! Wonderful magic!
And what horrible music! Emptiness itself, mediocrity itself. It
doesn't pay to come to Russia for such a 'Russian school'! You can
get this sort of thing everywhere--in Germany, in France, at any concert . . . and no one pays any attention to it . . . But here, now,
it's a great creation, an original Russian school! Russian, original!
And then there was this King Lear by Mr.
Balakirev. Balakirev--and Shakespeare--what do they have in common? A colossus of poetry
and a pigmy of music, not even a musician. And then . . . then there
was this 'chorus of Sennacherib' by Mr. Musorgsky . . . What self-
deceit, what blindness, what illiteracy, what an ignoring of Europe . . ."--VLADIMIR STASOV

44. To LUDMILA SHESTAKOVA

[Beginning of April, 1867]

OUR BENEFACTRESS THOU

LUDMILA IVANOVNA--BY MARRIAGE SHESTAKOVA

In these days of harsh frosts I feel greatly inflamed by a desire to coax
thee: allow me to present myself at thine home on Monday, God's
day, the day that follows Christ's bright resurrection.--Do not force
thyself, mine own, to spread an honorable feast, with a choice brew,
but permit me just to share with thee on that day some bread and
salt washed down with a goblet of the grape, and to indulge my aching

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